


Common Ground of Ghosts and Machines

by NonbinaryRobot



Series: The Boxer and The Detective [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: (like big big boy divergence), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Everything is bigger then in game, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unreliable Narrator, like quite a bit of angst actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonbinaryRobot/pseuds/NonbinaryRobot
Summary: Detective Nick Valentine is a synthetic man with all of the parts--minus a few blood cells. One would say he's a prototype generation 2 synth, maybe the only one out there, still alive.Until he meets a certain synthetic boxer with their own ghost in their head.





	1. Introductions Must Be Made

It seemed the detective's luck was changing when Dino's head got smashed into the viewing window mid sentence.

Nick Valentine, the synth detective of the Commonwealth. Stuck in the Overseer's office of the Triggerman's new place of operations: Vault 114, an unfinished vault in Park Street station. All from a single missing person's case bringing him straight out into Triggerman territory. After he was caught by Skinny Malone's goons and almost got his head bashed in by his new ragtag lover, the mob boss had put him in the Overseer's office out for "old times" sake. Too much history to outright kill him, Skinny had mentioned. Nick was grateful for it, but he'd much rather prefer being, well, not trapped in there. Who knows how long he was down here. Days, weeks. Hell, maybe even a month. He couldn't be too much sure at this point. Being underground is never helpful for figuring out the time. Especially when no one bothered to stick a clock in the room. Nick ready to get out of place as soon as possible. There's only so much one person can take listening to the same Overseer interviews and reading the same terminal message over and over. If Nick's brain wasn't made of metal, he's pretty sure it would have rotted to the point where he would have the same intelligence IQ as Soup Can Henry.

Thankfully, he didn't have the worry about him rusting away in this room, anymore. Considering Dino's nose had broken and splattered blood all over the overseer's viewing window.

Though, seeing the amount of blood splatter that made it onto the window made him almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. The Triggerman's luck went from bad to worse after his attempts to fight back just end up with him getting a mean left hook and going down out of the view of the window. The next thing Nick could hear was a _**crunch.**_

Judging by the silence that had fallen in the vault, Dino wasn't going to get up anytime soon. Or getting up at all, for that matter. However, Nick's thoughts about the fate of Dino were soon pushed aside once he realized that he doesn't know who's on the outside. Who are they and why are they here? Hell, for all he knew, they weren't even here from him. They could have been just some really good merc or raider trying to find something to loot in the vault. Doubtful, but hey, anything can happen.

Chances hopefully are that Ellie probably got worried and had managed to get someone to come find him. Probably wasn't herself that came to save him. She wasn't known for hand to hand combat. But then again, people can always be full of surprises. So what does he know?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Hey, you!"

The stranger popped into view. From what Nick could see from the window covered with blood, they were wearing a red hoodie and a pair of shades. Maybe their hair was pulled into a ponytail, he couldn't really tell from where he was standing in the room. Dino's blood didn't help either. Nick knew that it wasn’t his secretary. That much was obvious. He also knew that they probably weren’t a raider. Probably. They weren’t wearing any raider armor and their clothes seemed a bit nicer than the classic raider aesthetic most of them had going on. Didn’t look like they were purposely rubbed into dirt and blood for the better part of 10 years. Maybe they were one interesting looking merc that Ellie hired to come save him.

"I don't know who you are, but we have three minutes before they find out muscles-for-brains isn't coming back. Get this door open!" His soon to be savior looked around until they saw the terminal that kept him locked in and gave a thumbs in response before moving out of sight of the viewing window.

And who says chivalry is dead?

Before Nick could even make a suggestion to look for the password on Dino’s body, the door begins to slide open and the stranger walks in.

The first thing that stood out to the detective was their height. They were on the shorter side. Looked closer to around 5'5", if he had to guess. Definitely shorter than him. The low lighting in the room made it hard to tell, but they did have their hair up in a ponytail, it seemed. Dark colored jeans and combat boots completed the look they had going on, and down by their side they held a baseball wrapped in barbed wire. No blood was dripping from it, however. No, he soon would learn in the very near future of under three minutes is that Dino's blood and brain matter was not on that bat whatsoever. It was, on the contrary, on the left boot, shirt and fists of the stranger he had just met. Time would tell what Dino’s corpse would look like and how his fate was sealed. Right now though? It's time for introductions.

"Ah, my knight-in-shining-armor. But the question is, why do they come all this way, risk life and limb, for an old private eye?"

They decided to answer that question when they reached up to take off their shades. They paused when their hand touched the wire arm of the shades, before lifting them off their face. Once he saw their eyes, it was the first time in a long time that Nick was thrown for a loop.

They had bright blue eyes. Their eyes were glowing in the dim lighting in the Overseer’s office. It had completely shocked him. He didn't expect those eyes to be hidden underneath their shades, and he definitely did not expect them to look exactly the same as his, just only in blue as compared to the yellow he had come familiar with the years that had past.

He was staring into the eyes of a synth, and what Valentine saw was fear. There was something about it that he couldn't pin down behind that fear. Maybe not at that exact moment, but he could conclude at least one thing as they held eye contact: it almost seemed they were letting their guard down in front of him. Maybe that was the cause behind the fear, them being afraid of extending their trust to him. He wouldn’t blame them. Nick doesn’t know them and they don’t know him. However, from the way this interaction was going, they couldn’t have been part of the institute. If they were, they weren’t anymore. They acted way too human for a normal gen 2 synth. Most generation 2 synths didn’t have hair either. Hell, he didn’t have hair himself.

Finally, the realization dawned on him:

They're a generation 2 prototype, just like him.

They were a prototype, probably a slightly later model that he was. One where they had started to experiment with heights, different color eyes and hair but, they were a prototype. He wasn’t the only prototype in the Commonwealth that was surviving. No, there were at least two. And he was face to face with only other one.

Out of all the people to save him from the clutches of Skinny Malone and his men, this is one he'd never expect.

So many questions popped into his head and began to plague his mind. If it were not for the current situation at hand, he'd attempt to ask them all. Did they remember the institute at all? Did they go through the same experiments as him? Were they alongside him while he suffered the experiments he doesn’t remember? Were there anyone else like them out there? Hell, did they have their own pre-war memories of someone else from a life long gone? Life that had only survived from the ruins of the War by ghouls that have lived for years and years longer than he had, and the memories Nick's keeping warm in his own head?

Did they own memories of the man who he’s really trying to be?

There’s no time to ask that right now. Their time limit in here was short, and if they don’t leave now, things are going to get hairy real fast. He knew that. It seemed they did, too.

"As much I would like to answer that question, I don't think the either of us have enough time to, detective." A pause. “Unless you wanna stand here and talk for three minutes, then run to the exit while being shot at by the post-apocalyptic version of the mob then, sure. I'm down for answering questions."

Nick snorted. The hint of sarcasm in their voice had definitely not been lost to him. Them knowing what the mafia was wasn’t lost on him, either. They spoke with in an accent that he was surprised that it still existed. It sounded like something the real Nick Valentine would have heard all of those years ago. They didn’t have a distinct stereotypical Boston accent--well, stereotypical by pre-war standards--but something about it stood out to him. It was Northeastern, that much Nick could conclude. It felt like a sign that they had to deal with the probably unethical situation he was in. They were a man out of time and past. Just like him.

It felt like a sign that he wasn’t alone in the Commonwealth that had someone else’s personality. Someone else’s memories. Someone else’s... everything.

Nick’s mind shifted back to the situation at hand. "I think I'm good on my share of bullet holes for the month. Let's blow this joint and head for the agency. Then we'll talk. You at least deserve that much, since you took the time to get me out."

The synth nodded. They slipped on their shades in one fluid movement. They gestured to the door with their free hand.

"Lead the way, Detective."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say this now: I am not writer. This is the first fic I've actually ever sat down and been serious about writing. Writing is not my strong suit and I'm lucky I can spell correctly a good chunk of the time. Any suggestions about stuff would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> thank you for spending the time to read this :^)


	2. Neckbrace

They’ve managed to get through most of the vault relevantly without any major incidents. The two of them had got close to getting caught by two of the roaming triggermen. Had it not be for the fact that one was drunk out of his mind and stumbling around like a fool and another was having a great ol’ time on the floor, just inhaling jet like the next coming of radioactive Christ was upon them, they would have been caught. Being caught would have meant more triggermen and possibly even Skinny Malone’s girl with a bat and really? A gun moll with a violent streak and a bat is the last thing anyone needs in this vault right now.

 

Luckily, that was a situation that wasn’t going to happen to the two of them.

 

But they might as well create a fitness routine with all the stairs in this goddamn vault. Sure, neither of them had to worry about getting tired from going up and down stairs. They were just really annoying to deal with.

 

The first major hurdle in their path to returning to the surface (if Nick ignored the rather annoying amount of stairs) is currently the fact that the last door to their ticket to freedom is locked. It isn’t really too much of a hassle, in all honesty. He just has to open up the paneling for the controls of the door and mess with the wiring. Easy peasy. With the amount of times he had to rewire his own limbs, so they’d work again, he could probably do this in his sleep. Well, if he could sleep.

 

“This will only be a bit. Just gotta mess with some of the wires, nothing crazy.” Nick said trying to keep it the conversation light. The dead silent—if ignoring the sound of his wire fiddling—was slightly weird. He knew so little about this synth or why they needed him. Heck, he didn’t even know their name. Then again, he had just met them five minutes ago. Nick was still interested, nonetheless. “Ya know, I never actually got your name.”

 

“Pr0-w1.”

 

“Pr0-w1?” Nick said, trying not to sound puzzled. That sounded very familiar and yet, he couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Well, maybe it was because it sounded exactly like the word “prowl” and that’s definitely a word in the English vocabulary even if it’s rarely used in a sentence. However, something like that wouldn’t trigger this much vague deja vu within his mind. He couldn’t jog any memory of a person named Prowl from his memories, the real Nick’s or his own. So the chances of actually meeting them over 210 years ago was extremely unlikely, but he can’t write that off just yet. Deep down, though, he felt like that couldn’t be the case. He just couldn’t put a finger why the name was so familiar. Why was that name so _ goddamn _ familiar?

 

“Yup. The one and only. At least, last time I checked.” Pr0-w1 twirled their bat in their hand aimlessly before continuing, “I assume yours is Nick Valentine or else we’ve both got some problems.”

 

“You’re in good company, then.” And with that, Nick got the door to unlock and slide open. “Bingo.” The two synths managed to get about three steps past the door until they were standing face to face with Skinny Malone and his gun moll Darla along with some of his underlings as backup.

 

“Fuck.” Thank you, Pr0-w1, for at least saying the current thoughts of this situation.

 

“Nicky? What’re you doin’? You come into my house. Killin’ my guys. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?” Skinny Malone. The mob boss of the triggerman that run rampant across the commonwealth, specifically more within the inner heart of what used to be pre-war Boston, Massachusetts. With his members having a place setup in Goodneighbor, as well. Currently, he and his gang had set up in the vault within the subway. However, even before Skinny Malone expanded to Park Street station, him and Nick have history together. The most noteworthy incident that steps out of Nick’s mind straight way is the Dunwich Borers quarry incident with Lilly June. Many years before Skinny Malone became the mob boss of the infamous postwar mafia themed gang and had built up his persona. If Nick hadn’t found Skinny Malone before he took the plunge, he would have ended up like his lover at the time. Maybe not laying on the rocks with his brain matter leaking out on the stone surface under them, but he would have probably either drowned or worse, became an icicle in the dead of winter all those years ago.

 

They were the only two found at the quarry that day. Lilly June and Skinny Malone. Whether or not any of Malone’s or Lilly’s friends were with them, Malone never said. Even if they were, the sad truth of it was: they would never be found. The only two found on that day was the corpse of a teen with her head split open and a teen who tried to jump into a pool of deep dark water deep within the quarry.

 

While it wasn’t the only time Nick would cross paths with Skinny, it was one that always came to mind first. The detective was well aware that Skinny never forgot, either. Sure, it wasn’t the only thing that made Skinny Malone, the mob boss of the Triggerman, to become sentimental and keep him still kicking in the Overseer’s office of an uncompleted vault for weeks on end. At this point, though? It’s neither here nor there, now.

 

At this point in time, Skinny Malone was one of the few standing between Valentine’s and Pr0-w1’s escape to the surface.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny.” Nick said, nodding towards Darla. “You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

 

The one and only Darla popped into the conversation, with a mocking and babying tone to her voice as she stood by Skinny Malone’s side and holding her bat. “Awww... poor little, Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I’ll just run back home to daddy, shall I?”

 

Originally, Nick was  _ supposed _ to find Darla and bring her home to her parents, under the assumption that Skinny Malone had kidnapped her. That was not the reality Nick learned when he arrived here, however. Come to find out, Darla had run off to go be with Skinny Malone, without saying a single word to her parents about it. According to them, she was well known for her a violent streak and falling in love with “bad boys”. They definitely weren’t wrong about either of these, it seems. When she started to beat him with her bat when Nick tried to convince her home. If he wasn’t a synth, he’d end up with his gray matter splattered across the floor. Her parents aren’t probably going to like the solution for this case, but Darla made the choice to go with Skinny Malone willingly. Nick isn’t going to forcibly bring her home if she doesn’t want to either. That’s not how this detective works.

 

“Should’ve left it alone, Nicky. This ain’t the old neighborhood. In this vault, I’m the king of the castle, you hear me?” Skinny Malone said. “And I ain’t lettin’ some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin’.”

 

Darla turned to her lover, clearly annoyed at the man. “I told you we should’ve just killed him, but then you had to get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the “old times.””

 

“Darla, I’m handling this! Skinny Malone’s always got things under control!”

 

Pr0-w1 looked like they were going to say something in response to that and immediately that hey kept their mouth shut. Nick had a feeling they were about to be a wiseass. Which is not exactly the time for that, but that’s never stopped him from being a wiseass in the past.

 

“Oh yeah, then what’s their business doing here, huh?” She used her bat to point it at Pr0-w1. “Valentine must have brought them here to run us all out!”

 

Pr0-w1 raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Of course. Definitely the reason behind how I got here. And Nick definitely killed your men. Especially when he was locked up in the overseer’s room. But, you know, forget that shit.” They twirled the bat in their hands. Compared to Darla’s, it is a lot more threatening. Her bat was just a simple wooden bat and was completely clean. Might as well have been wiped down and polished five minutes ago. One would make the argument that she had never used it and kept it around for show If it were not for the fact she’d already try to beat up him with it already. Pr0-w1’s however? Is wrapped in barbed wire and covered in dried blood. Definitely shows more wear and tear than Darla’s own bat. Which, in Nick’s mind seems more threatening.

 

“Here’s a thing to consider Skinny Malone: You’ll be joining your men in a shallow grave. Your girl may have her own bat, but I also don’t need mine to turn your skull into dust.” And after Pr0-w1’s threat, that’s when it sunk in to Nick that their hands are covered in dried blood, he didn’t get the chance to get a good look at Dino but that’s no denying that his blood was at the very least one of the many’s covering their hands. After a quick glance at their hands, they were missing small patches of skin, their metal knuckles showing through them. The word “boxer” popped into Nick’s mind. They’re a boxer. They have the memories of a boxer. Explains why Dino was out for the count so easily.

 

Skinny must have noticed the blood too, judging by his face. Got the hint real fast that they weren’t messing around. The fear in his eyes told the two synths the answer before he even started to speak. “O-Okay. Okay, fine! You two can go. But you got until the count of ten! Then I don’t care what happened in the old days  _ or _ your threats. You’re dead!”

 

Darla whipped around to look at him in shock, she almost threw down her bat in annoyance with him. “What are you doing, Skinny?! Kill them!”

 

“No, Darla. They get one chance to leave. Skinny Malone’s putting his foot down.”

 

“My mother was right. You mobsters all are just talk.” Heartbroken, Darla ran out of the vault in disappointment. The mob boss made no attempts to stop her—no one did. Nick would hope that she decided it’s time to go back home.

 

Pr0-w1 looked over at Nick “So, uh. Time to take our leave?”

 

Nick nodded. “Let’s get out of here. And fast.”

 

With the speed they were running, Skinny Malone had barely begun to count when they couldn’t hear him anymore. Nick had mentioned something about a service ladder while they were sneaking their way out a bit earlier and it was definitely faster than leaving through the subway, especially if they didn’t want to deal with Triggerman coming for their heads. Nick climbed the ladder first, with Pr0-w1 right behind him, keeping the distance between them as short as possible. Well, without making things awkward, of course.

 

To their surprise, it was still somewhat bright out when they exited the tunnel. The sun just was setting, and the area seemed unnaturally calm compared to the two synths that had left the underground that was. Whether that’s actually a good thing, well. Only time will tell.

 

“Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky. Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting...” Nick took out a cigarette from his pack and lit it while Pr0-w1 fixed the hood on their zip up. At first he’d thought they’re trying to put it up, but he quickly noticed that they were trying to make the sides of the hoodie hid the gaping holes along the seams of their neck. The swiftness at which they did it stood out to Nick. This was definitely not something they just thought to do on a whim. It was obvious to the detective what they were doing. They were trying to hide the fact they’re a synth as much as possible without having anyone suspect them to be one.

 

“Probably best we head to the agency. Don’t wanna get caught out in the open and end up dealing with more trouble than we need.”

 

“Fine by me.” Pr0-w1 said, pushing their shades back into the bridge of their nose, making sure it completely hid their glowing eyes. “I don’t want to stay around to find out what’s hiding around here, anyways.” They held their bat between their thighs while their hands moved to the back of their head to redo their ponytail in almost one fluid motion, only pausing to slip the scrunchy onto their wrist to continue. Once they were finished, they had their bat in their hands again, resting the bat on their shoulder. For all Nick could have known, Pr0-w1 could have been a pre-war baseball player. Hell, maybe not major league, but who really knows. A part of him was fully convinced, however, that they were a boxer.

 

Pr0-w1 walked in the direction back to Diamond City then stopped after taking five steps forward. They immediately turned around “I. Just realized you should probably take the lead, considering you probably know the fastest route back without stumbling into super mutants or raiders. Plus, I don’t visit Diamond City often so fuck If I know what I’m doing.”

 

Nick snorted. Well, at least they were honest. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to make sure it was truly out. “Let’s get a move on then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, these chapters aren't gonna be posted on a regular basis, because boy howdy i dont do good under time restraints. but! the first couple will be updated around a reasonable time period tho. hopefully.


	3. Business as Usual

The two synths kept close to each other, with Nick leading the way as they made their way to Diamond City. They walked down the broken and crumbling sidewalk in a calm silence, passing Hubris comics along the way. It wasn’t long before Nick broke it with his curiosity. “Thanks for getting me outta that vault by the way. How d’you know to find me down in that old vault?”

They looked over at him. “Your secretary, Ellie. And from the way she was talking you were cooped down there for weeks.” 

“She did? I should give her a raise.” They kept close to the side of the building, rounding the corner to the right before they could get close to Trinity Plaza. Neither of them were interested in dealing with super mutants today. “Not sure how long Skinny kept me down there, so she might not be too far off.”

He turned his attention back towards him, looking over at his shorter companion. “Though, it feels like you’re here for more than just on Ellie’s request.”

“Yeah, uh,” They rubbed the back of their neck. “That’s a long story. I need help finding a guy.”

“You’ll have all of time to tell it, when we get to the agency. You deserve at least that much.”

“Right.” They didn’t sound too sure about it but Nick wasn’t lying when he said he’ll hear em out.

It wasn’t too long until they reached the city’s limits. As they approached, one guard greeted Nick as they reached the walls of the ballpark turned city. Pr0-w1 got closer to the detective, trying to make it so the detective was the center of attention as much as possible. Nick could tell they were nervous to head into the city, even if they hid it fairly well. Not that Nick doesn’t blame them. With the citizens of Diamond City that are extremely vocal about being anti-synth, he completely understands their fears. Does not help Piper’s paper is almost the literal definition of fear-mongering when it comes to the topic of synths, even if Piper herself does not truly realize what effect her papers have created for the people of Diamond City. Maybe even for the people of the Commonwealth as a whole. Who really knows if her paper reaches farther than the Green Monster’s grasp? 

Regardless, Nick will forever thank Lady Luck from letting him be able to stay in Diamond City, especially ever since the citizens let him in after the broken mask incident. He’s never had to hide the fact he’s a synth nor has he ever tried. People know who he is. 

If Valentine showed up now? He wouldn’t be walking down the steps that led him into the center of the city, with a nervous boxer with a bat following close behind. The agency sure wouldn’t exist either, that’s for sure.

Hell, he probably wouldn’t made it to the edge of the city wall’s without a guard mowing him down. 

“If there’s one thing that I can appreciate about this place, is that they at least still have the Green Monster around.” Nick’s attention shifted towards the boxer behind him. They stood at the top of the steps, twisting their bat in their hands nervously while looking out at the stadium wall. “Now if they could quit calling baseball players ‘swatters’ we’d be all set.” 

“Good luck with trying to tell Moe the game isn’t about murdering one another. Even if you could, I doubt he would just up and quit calling them Swatters.”

Pr0-w1 looks down at Nick, who was a couple steps below them. “Do all of the stubborn people live here or is it just a really big coincidence?” 

“If we’re only including the most merchants and people from the upper stands? Yes.” 

At least that rose a tiny little smile out from them. He couldn’t see their eyes behind those shades of theirs but Nick was sure they were rolling them. “Thank you, Detective. You truly have solved this mystery for me.” Their words were dripping with sarcasm but he couldn’t detect any annoyance alongside it at all. 

“It is in the job description. What kind of detective would I be if I couldn’t unravel this mystery?” 

And without missing a beat, Pr0-w1 replied: “A shitty one.” 

Nick chuckled. Surprisingly, a side effect from this was it washing some of their nervousness away while also responding with a bigger smile and lowered their to their side. A good one, luckily. They didn’t move from the top of the stairs, however.

“Pr0-w1.” 

“Nick.” 

He frowned, they definitely weren’t making this easy, were they? “You coming back to the agency? I do want to you find what you’re looking for. Whatever or whoever it is.” 

They exhaled a breath they seemed to be holding for a long while and slowly made their way down the stairs. Nick stuck close to them as much as he could while he leads them in the agency's direction. Pr0-w1 seemed very hesitant as they got near the marketplace. Thankfully, Nick knew this city like the back of his metallic skeleton hand and took a detour by running the bases backwards instead. It was definitely not a shortcut, but he’d rather not make Pr0-w1 more uncomfortable than they already are. 

Overall, they’ve made to the agency unscathed, mostly. Minus a sarcastic comment or two from Pr0-w1 about how this isn’t how you run the bases. However, Nick had a feeling that their own nerves were getting to them at this point and decided against dishing it back to his synth companion.  

Not even two steps into the agency, Ellie Perkins had started to give her “Nick isn’t here right now” speech before realizing that it was Nick and a friend and dropping her clipboard.

“Oh god, Nick!” She ran up to him and tackled the synth and almost knocking him over. “It’s really you! I was so worried that something bad happened to you.” Ellie had pulled into a tight hug. If it were not for the fact that he was made of mostly metal, she probably could have crushed something with how tight it was. Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, though.

Nick chuckled and returned the hug. “Well, it’s not hard to mistake this mug. Though, if it weren’t for you sending our friend here to come find me, I would’ve been stuck in that vault for who knows how much longer.”

Ellie pulled back to get a good look at Pr0-w1 as they reached down to pick up the clipboard she dropped. They had already set their bat down by the door. As Pr0-w1 stood up straight, Ellie was met with the same blue synth eyes Nick saw himself earlier today. Their shades hung from the collar of their white blood stain shirt. 

Nick knew Ellie was trying to hide her shock as Pr0-w1 mentally played the ‘Should I Hand Back Your Clipboard Now Or Wait’ game. She was half successful with her attempt. 

Pr0-w1 just gave a sheepish grin in response. 

Ellie let go of Nick and took a quick moment to collect herself before smiling. “You saved Nick, this agency, and even my job. Thank you.”

“It was no problem.” They handed her back the clipboard.

She searched through her coat pockets for caps, switch hands to hold on to the clipboard while she dug around. Once she found some, she held them out to Pr0-w1. “Here, I know an amount wasn’t on the table--“

Pr0-w1 shook their head. “Keep your caps, please. I don’t need em. Trust me.”

“No fooling? Well, I’ll put in the rainy day fund then.” She shoved them back in her pocket. Ellie paused, then started to smirk. “You know, if you’re looking for work and don’t mind putting on the detective hat, Nick could use a new partner.”

“Hustling for another one already, Ellie? They hadn’t even had a chance for an interview.” Hell, Nick hadn’t even had a chance to take off his coat, let alone hang it up on the wall. He’d rather be able to get a chance and get off his feet before even processing the idea adding a new member to crew. Though, he wouldn’t mind having a partner by side again. The more eyes they have on a case, the less they’ll miss. Besides, Pr0-w1 seems to be capable of themselves. Even if they’re walking around with just a barbed wire wrapped bat. They must be doing something right if they’re still kicking. 

Pr0-w1 raised an eyebrow. “Shit, if I had known I had to do an interview I would have brought my résumé. Sadly I don’t think you could call my former employers because I don’t think they’re alive anymore. Well, unless you know necromancy.” They gave the detective and his secretary a smug grin before continuing. “In all seriousness though, I’d be down for some casing solving. That is, if Nick doesn’t mind shitty jokes and sarcasm.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “As long as you don’t mind it being dished back to you.” 

Ellie jumps in. “The real question is whether or not you can sass Nick right back at him. That’s how you’ll be able to keep this job.” 

Nick isn’t too sure if he should be insulted by that or not. “Alright you two, let’s worry about Pr0-w1’s new job offer later. Right now we have a case to solve.” He pulled out a chair from the desk and sat down. He gestured to the seat across the desk from him as Ellie took her place behind him, ready to take notes. “The devil is in the details, tell me what you can remember.”

Pr0-w1 had barely sat down in the chair and they look like they’ve gone through at least 20 face journeys before they had even begun speaking. “So uh. Well.” They pause for a moment and make vague hand motions as they try to explain. “To start off, I was shot in the back of the head and was dead for about, I dunno, around five years? I guess?” 

Well. That caught Nick by surprise. He’s doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t ‘Once upon a time I died.’ Before he can say anything, Pr0-w1 feels around the back of their head with their middle finger. 

“Actually, I still have the hole there..” 

Maybe Nick takes back that comment from earlier. Whatever they’re doing, it’s. Something. Is it something right? Sightly doubtful, if they ended up dying.

Then again, they appear to be terrible at staying dead so what does he really know?

Pr0-w1 continued on, regardless of any shock from the two people in front of them. “But, uh. Right. So. I end up waking up repaired in an old rundown pre-war home. Surrounded by a bunch of tools. From what I remember a good chunk of the tools were definitely something you could find a mechanic’s toolbox?”

Nick cut in. “So a real handyman, or someone that’s good at repairing electrics. Doesn’t boil down much but, it’s something.” 

They shrugged. “Either way, come to find out the guy who fixed me up and made me be, uh, not dead is nowhere to be seen and that his Mr. Handy friend said he went looking for his missing son that had been kidnapped?” They made more vague hand motions.

Apparently he came out of that closed vault in the area. Vault 111. So he’s a man who’s over 200 years out of time and, honestly, I just wanted to why he repaired me but now I guess I’m looking for a man’s missing son as well as where he went.”

“200 years? That means he’s been around since before the bombs dropped entirely. We must be looking for a ghoul, then.” This puzzled Nick. Something about this doesn’t add up. If he’s a ghoul, why is he living in a closed vault? And how did his child get kidnapped if the vault was close all this time? How old is the child and was he a ghoul, too? 

This seems to a rabbit hole of a case that Nick has fallen into. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find the end of it and solve it.

“I wish that were the case. The Mr. Handy—I think his name was Codsworth, if I remember correctly—said that the man had sent him down into the vault to look for something? He mentioned that he saw cryo pods and ended up almost having a breakdown telling me that the guy’s wife dead in one of the pods.”  

Well, shit. Okay. “So we’re looking for a man and his son outta time that both disappeared in the commonwealth, with the kiddo being kidnapped and his wife dead. Well, I’ve gone on less information than that. Did Codsworth ever say how old was the kid?”

They made an ‘I dunno’ noise. “He told me that the kid was pretty young, so probably less than like 10 years old? If I had to guess?”

It something suddenly clicked for Nick. A kid around 10 years old? There was one person that was in the area not too long ago that had a kid in the age range. This felt like a massive stretch, considering the only connection between the two cases was a kid, but…

“Did this Codsworth character ever mentioned the name Kellogg at all?”

They shook their head. “No, but did say something about a Conrad.”

Close enough. “That could still just be a coincidence, but it’s the only lead we got. Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?”

Ellie quickly shifted through the stack folders on the desk. She grabbed the one with the label ‘Kellogg’ after a couple second digging for it. She opened it up and quickly skimmed through it. “We have a description of Conrad Kellogg. Bald head, scar on his left eye and reputation for dangerous mercenary work, but, no one knows who his employer is.”

“He bought a house here in town, right? he had a kid with him, didn’t he?”

“That’s right, the house in the abandoned west stands. The boy with him was about ten years old from eyewitness reports.” Ellie was not too sure what Nick was getting at, but before she could make a comment, Pr0-w1 had already spoken up.

“You’re saying Kellogg, was either the guy who repaired me, or he stole his son? And that he’s living in Diamond City?” Pr0-w1 didn’t sound too convinced. They crossed their arms. “It can’t be that easy, Nick.”

“He may not be your guy, but I have a small hunch that he plays some kind of role in this. It’s not a strong lead, but it’s something. Both Kellogg and the kid vanished a while back, if I’m remembering right. But that house of his is still there. Lets you and I talk a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address.” Nick stood up from his chair. “See if we can snoop out where he went.”

Pr0-w1 pushed themselves out of the chair. They muttered to themselves while they made their way to grab their bat. “Of course it’s not easy, Pr0-w1, When will you learn. When will you learn your actions have fucking consequences.”

Ellie hadn’t heard them. “Security doesn’t really go to that part of town. You two should still be careful.”

Nick smiled. “I always am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. i definitely did bot lost motivation for a few weeks because I was trying to survive school and finally be free from hell land. noooo not at all. you cant prove anything.
> 
> alternate title for this chapter: Ellie Claps Back


	4. Oh, but Be Advised, No Restitution Comes Tonight

“Fuck, the view is actually pretty nice from here.” Pr0-w1 stated, as they leaned on the railing. “Probably a bonus to go along with this fuck’s house bein’ out of the way.”

The night has officially begun to set, which was a bonus for the two of them. Fewer people out and about. Most of them either at the Dugout Inn or in their own homes doing their own nightly routine. Guards not visiting this part of Diamond City was an extra cherry on top. Made it easier to sneak into Kellogg’s house without getting caught.

Nick had gotten down on one knee to get a better angle at the door. He looked over at his new partner in (stopping) crime as they looked out over towards the center of the city. Pr0-w1 had their shades hanging by the front of their shirt, and the somewhat distant lights of the center of town had cast a soft glow on their face. It was something he’d imagine this would be a scene captured by an old time prewar painter and found on display within whatever was left the Museum of Fine Arts.

The more he stared, the more he realized it really felt almost like he was looking at a prewar painting. A painting that had somehow survived relatively unscathed from the war and the passage of time. It made him wish that there were still artists around. Painters that captured the beauty of the wasteland. That could take a moment like this, and freeze it in time with brush strokes.

Then, as he noticed he was getting too lost in his thoughts, Nick caught himself staring. At them. And not even looking like he was even pretending to acknowledge the lock at all. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed.

The lock. Right. 

Nick turned his attention back towards the lock in front of him. Whipping out his bobby pins and screwdriver, he unlocked the door to Kellogg’s home.

Or by the sound of the bobby pin snapping, attempting to unlock it. 

He squints at the door and mutters to himself. “Got something to hide, Kellogg?” 

“Nick.” And there goes the second.

“Hm?” He turned to glance at them for a moment. Pr0-w1 was staring down at him from their spot by the railing as he tried to unlock Kellogg’s house. A hand in their pocket while the other held the blood-stained bat. 

“Would you like help?”

“I should be fine, just gotta jimmy this—” His last bobby pin snapped. “Or not.” 

They snorted. “Alright, move over. Let me try. Hold my bat.” 

Now that he was able to hold the bat in his hands, Nick could see why Pr0-w1 liked it. He may not be a baseball bat appraiser, but he can feel how much weight it had. With enough force, he could probably do some good damage, and this isn’t even including the barbed wire or putting in to consideration how much strength Pr0-w1 has behind their swings. After witnessing Dino’s face being crushed into the Overseer window, he’s not sure if he really wants to know how much power it really is. Nick doubts they swung at Dino full force too. Hell, that was only their fist.

All in all, the detective is sure he doesn’t wanna be at the wrong end of any weapon they hold.

Kind of gross that’s got dried blood caked on the bat, though.

“Have you considered ever cleaning this thing?” Nick questioned as they crouched down in front of the door.

Pr0-w1 snorted. “Yes. It’s kinda hard to get blood out of wood, though. Also, I don’t need to rip up my fingers trying to get blood off of barbed wire. So it stays. Adds character anyways.” They supplying their own screwdriver and bobby pins from their back pocket. 

“I think you and me have different definitions of 'adding character’, Pr0-w1.” 

They stopped picking the lock to look at him. “Okay. What’s more scary? A guy coming at you with a clean wooden bat? Or a guy coming at you with a bloodstained bat covered in barbed wire?” 

Okay. Point taken. “Touche.” 

Only 5 seconds after turning back around, they broke a bobby pin. “Fuck.”

Any hopes Nick had for them getting the door open were dwindling. Time for Plan B, AKA get a copy of the key from the Mayor.

He looked up at old commentary box now mayor office. The lights were still on, which means Geneva was still at her desk. Doubtful Mayor McDonough would take in any visitors at this hour but hey, it’s worth a try. “I think we might need to go to Mayor’s---”  

Click.

“Office. Or you’ve got it.” He watched as Pr0-w1 stood up. They had a shit-eating grin on their face as they took their bat back from him. It seems this synth has many tricks up their sleeve, or they were just very lucky.

“Age before beauty.” Pr0-w1 stated as they opened the door for him. 

He raised an eyebrow at them in response. “Who say I’m older?” Nick wasn’t really defending himself over that. He was just more surprised to hear an expression like that all these years later. Though, he was still a bit insulted. Deep down, there’s a part of him that really hoped that Pr0-w1 would stick with the agency after this. 

“Well, I’m the one with the hair.” They ran their hand on the wall blindly by the door frame for a hot minute before finding the light switch. 

When the lights turned on, Nick realized a few things. 

One: Pr0-w1 is definitely capable of putting up with his own sass.

Two: Kellogg didn’t have a lot of things in his home. 

Three: While there wasn’t much in the way of stuff that Kellogg owned, it was clear that there were signs of life that had been here. Almost like a snapshot of Kellogg’s house from a couple months back, only without the kid and the man in the picture. 

Four: There was no signs of struggle or rush. Kellogg didn’t leave in a hurry.

Okay, maybe one of those things were not related to the case. But nonetheless, Kellogg’s house was built like an average Diamond City home. Large first floor area, with stairs leading up to a second floor with a bed and dresser. A dresser with the specific design to look like someone pulled the drawers out in a rush and didn’t bother to fix them back. All accompanied by not so great lighting. If there is a Diamond City house that didn’t come standard with these features, then it was one of the ones likely to fall apart if someone touched it wrong, or a house from the Upper Stands. Either or.

For Kellogg, his list of furniture on first floor consisted of a couch, metal cart for a side table, a broken TV on the floor, a desk with a tool box, a bunch of boxes piled--piled is a loose term here--against a wall, a wooden desk chair, and a bunch of rubber mats covered in trash and dirt. Again, not a lot of things, but for a completed list for the whole house, high chance of a bed and dresser on the second floor.

Kellogg’s desk sat next to the staircase, clearly positioned to get the maximum use out of the only source of light in the room. Pr0-w1 was already heading in that direction. 

“I got the desk, Nick. I’ll head upstarts if it’s a bust,” Pr0-w1 stated as they pulled the desk chair back. “Or I’m just a blind and can’t see the important shit in front of me.”

“I’ll check out the boxes, then.” Before he even decided to check out the boxes. Nick looked around the room. There was something that felt… off. It felt smaller than it actually is. 

The detective kept it in mind as he searched through the boxes. The boxes just kept being a bust each one he went through. All they contained was papers and old books. Nothing relevant at all. The only thing close to any form of importance was some drawings he found. Definitely looks like a kid drew them.

“Nothing.” Nick muttered to himself. He stood up and looked around the room again. “There’s gotta be something more to this place.” 

“Uh. Nick. There’s a switch over here.” 

Nick looked over at them as they reached reach down at something--probably the switch-- underneath the desk. He turned around to see a wall raising up backwards, leading into a secret room. Explains why the place felt smaller than it should have been.

“Guess that’s one way to hide a room.” Pr0-w1 took the words right out of his mouth before he could even attempt to speak. They walked past him into the room, and started to point everything in it. “Food, box of cigars, Stimpacks, fucking Nuka Cola: the Glowing Radioactive Blue Edition.” They grabbed one of the two bottles of it off the shelf. “Asshole McGee over here might as well just ran a fucking shop from his home with all of the shit he’s got in here.” 

They weren’t wrong. Kellogg’s secret hiding place was well stocked from food to ammo to canned water. Boxes and boxes of old prewar foods lined most of the shelves, with one of the sections being saved for military ammo boxes and another for a place to put his duffle bag.

The armchair and side table in the middle of the room was an interesting design choice to say the least. They were definitely the furniture that was dragged into the room, but with how the pieces were set up, it wasn’t in an attempt to hide them. From what Nick could judge, it was like Kellogg was just rearranging furniture and thought this spot was perfect. His only mistake was that he accidentally scratched up his own floors trying to redecorate. 

One would argue that a normal person wouldn’t just set up their secret room full of ammunition and supplies to have a chair where they could lounge in and smoke their cigars, but Nick had a feeling Conrad Kellogg is not exactly a normal person. 

“Chances are this is weird he’s hiding something we can use.”

“I’ll get this side,” Pr0-w1 gestured towards the shelves. “And you get the other?”

“Alright.” And with that, he turned his attention to the side table. .44 Caliber bullets, chances are he’s using a .44 pistol as his main weapon then. Empty beer bottle Gwin--

The slam of the duffle bag falling onto the ground brought him out of his thoughts and he wiped his head around to see Pr0-w1 staring down at the bag. “You having fun over there?”

“Yeah. I love being short and trying to take myself out with a duffle bag probably full of heavy weapons.” They said, not even bothering to turn around. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

Nick chuckled. “Just don’t kill yourself over there.” He turned back to the side table. Right. There was an empty bottle of Gwinnett stout on the table. Seemed to be Kellogg’s choice of alcohol. Too common, though. Can’t track a man who drinks a local prewar beer that probably tastes bland at best and is radioactive and absolutely horrible at worst. What stood out on the table the most was Kellogg’s cigar type of choice. San Francisco Sunlights. These aren’t something you would see in the Commonwealth at all. The most common choice of cigars is sent in on Caravan from whatever’s left of Springfield, along the Connecticut River. These, however? Based on the name, they’re probably from out west, New California Republic territory.

“Interesting brand...” He commented out loud. There’s not a lot he can do with this at the moment, but Kellogg has left a trail for them now. If the man has a preference for these cigars, he probably has some of them on his person at all times, and still smoking them.

“Nick.” 

“Hm?” He turned around to see Pr0-w1 holding a laser rifle in their hands, almost like they were trying to present it to him but scared to. If Nick had blood, he would have felt it turn icy cold as he saw what they had in their hands. 

He recognizes the red and white paint job on that rifle. That’s a rifle he’s seen before. More specifically, a rifle he’s seen before in the hands of synths. Synths that looks strikingly uncannily similar to him and Pr0-w1. 

That’s an institute rifle.

“I think, I know who his employers are.”


	5. Something Very Bad

The Institute.

Conrad Kellogg, a mercenary from New California Republic territory is working with the institute. It explains why Nick couldn’t find who his employer.

But when one question gets solved, so many more are added to a never ending list that sat in the detective’s processor. How long has Kellogg been working for the institute? Is there still a connection between the missing icicle and his son and Kellogg? What’s the institute role in all of this?

Is he still even connected with the institute at all?

So many questions. Not enough answers. The only way they were going to get answers was to find the mercenary himself and ask. Which was a whole process in of itself. Conrad Kellogg up and disappeared from the public eye with a child that might not even be his own. The chances of him wanting to be found is slim to none. The more Nick thought about this, the more he’s wondering if they were barking up the wrong tree. What if Kellogg’s not even connected to the vault dwelling icicle they’re trying to find? They may share the same first name, but it could just have been a coincidence. Just like there’s the possible of two Johns or two---

“Valentine.”

He was pulling back to reality by the sound of Pr0-w1’s voice. “Hm?”

“The fuck do we do with this?” They held the institute rifle just barely enough to where a breeze could blow away and it’d be knocked out of their hands.

They do raise a good question. What are they supposed to do with an institute rifle? They definitely can’t just bring it back to the agency. If someone recognizes it, Pr0-w1, him and maybe even Ellie will have some massive problems from it. Last thing any of them need is someone accusing him to still be with the institute and have false proof alongside it. However, the institute aren’t exactly fond of “If Found, Return to:” labels.

“I believe the only thing we can do is leave it here.” Nick definitely did not sound too sure of himself about this. They’re playing with fire now, and if they weren’t too careful, they’re going to get massively burned.

Pr0-w1 blinks in confusion. “We just. Leave here?”

“The stranger and the synth walked out of a house on the edge of town with an institute rifle. Care to tell me what’s wrong this photo?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know we’re gonna play the Hypothetical Scenario time now, Detective.” The tone of annoyance in Pr0-w1’s voice was quite strong.

Nick sighs. “I--“

Pr0-w1 cuts him off. “Here’s mine then: What the fuck happens when the Mayor decides “Oh! that Kellogg fellow is definitely not coming back! Let’s send some people to clear it out so we move in a new family!” and the people find a fucking button attached to a desk which leads to a fucking secret room that contains a _duffle bag._ That has a _laser rifle_ from the _Institute_?!”

“That’s not going to--“

“Better yet, what if someone fucking catches us trying to sneak out of the ‘Abandoned’ home of the weird Merc fellow and then they find the fucking rifle?! And they accuse us being part of the institute! It’ll be like when I died again!

“Pr0-w1--”

“--But this time, Nick? This time I get to fucking have my whole processor be shot out of my head and the rest of me will be used for fucking scrap!”

“ _Pr0-w1_.”

Silence fell into the room like a lead balloon. They stood there in the room starting at each other. Pr0-w1 holding the rifle down by their leg while their free hand was compacted tightly in a fist. Nick on the other hand, stood there, with both of his arms down, hands relaxed. The tension in the air hung over the two almost like a guillotine’s blade at their execution. At any moment, it would fall, taking off their heads. Pr0-w1 didn’t seem prepared to die just yet, or ever really for that matter.

There was an important thing to note. While it seemed there was only tense filled silence like mentioned before there was some sound within the room still being made. Yes, the low electric hum fulling the wires in the room was a thing and the quiet lull of the synth’s systems did coexisted in this space, but those two things are a common factor in everyday life of the two of them. Filtered out by their own ears as well as the rest of the surrounding people that played as background characters for their own lives. Well, for the most part, at least. There is always special cases that don’t follow this rule. No, there was another sound quietly lurking in the room. It was one of those sounds you hear after someone else had pointed it out and won’t disappear no matter how hard you try to not focus on it.

It was sounds of plaster mimicking the form of skin for a older generation synth. Sounding like it was going to be broken apart. Sounding like it the hard fact shell was going to be punctured. This such sound was accompanied by faint strains of metal about to disconnect from the formed connections of faked joints they made together. Whether it would be the skin or the metal to give out first, it was unclear. For those who have the highly acute power of finding the source of a specific sound or noise, they’d be able to trace it directly to Pr0-w1’s fist.

Whether Nick was just unable to hear it or just unable to acknowledge it in the moment, is unknown.

Either way, he’s the one who breaks the silence. “None of those things will happen, Pr0-w1. Incompetence is the name of the game in the governing body of Diamond City. Mayor McDonough will do as much as he can to stay in the box, making sure the Upper Stands are happy as possible and will pretend everything is fine and happy. Anything else? Good luck getting to the guards to help you. They may protect citizens, but that’s all you can try and ask of them at this point. Unless someone brings the idea up of cleaning out Kellogg’s place, McDonough won’t have anything done about it.”

That’s one truth of the matter Nick wish he could pretend wasn’t. But that’s not how life works.

You can’t run from the truth. No matter how much hard it is to swallow.

“Either way,” He placed the metal skeleton of what one would define as a hand on their shoulder. The fact he could just feel how tense they are is extremely concerning. “No one’s going to chase you out of Diamond City, even if they found out you’re a synth. Not when I’m around.”

Pr0-w1 sighed, sounding like a deflating balloon. He watched Pr0-w1 slowly released all tension they had in their shoulders. They literally went from being ready to fight for their life to the point where they just, look so exhausted. So tired and _exhausted_. They had probably spent the last few decades fighting for their lives, preparing for the worst. Expecting someone to try to take off their head for being a synth. Hell, it’s already happened at least once for them, and look where it had got them. Dead for five years and looking for the man that repaired them just to ask why.

All of a sudden, it sunk in for Nick.

They wanted to ask the man why he thought it was a good idea to repair them. Why he decided a synth was someone who deserved a second chance. They just wanted to know why.

Nick Valentine was a lucky synth who had the chance to be accepted by people who didn’t assume he was some mechanical monster. He went from being seen to just Nick the Synth, to Nick the Detective. He’s not afraid to be open about being a synth in Diamond City.

Pr0-w1 on the other hand, never got the chance. That’s why they’re so afraid.

And he could feel the hurt in his heart growing by the minute.

Nick hesitates for a moment before squeezing their shoulder. He isn’t sure what sure what to say, but he slowly reaches for the rifle. Pr0-w1 instinctively passes the rifle to him. They shift out of the way and go look on the other side of the room. With the rifle now in his own hands, he absolutely felt wrong. Looking down at the duffle bag, he dropped the rifle into and zipped it up. Nick debated on whether or not he should as Pr0-w1 opened up a box and sounded like they were mindlessly searching for something.

“Okay.” Pr0-w1 quietly says, as Nick lifts the duffle bag back onto its spot on the shelf. “There’s nothing useful here.”

They turn around to face him. They still looked exhausted. “Did you find anything earlier?”

“Yeah,” Nick shoves his hand into his pocket and holds up the cigar box. “A box of San Francisco Sunlights.”

Pr0-w1 closes their eyes and take a deep breath before responding. “Okay. And how does a box of cigars help us?”

“This isn’t a normal brand you can get around here. Kellogg is smoking cigars specifically from the west coast.”

They raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah but, how are going to use them to our advantage? They may have different packaging but we have no idea which direction he went. Commonwealth? Big. Cigar? Small. Kellogg? Moves around.”

Pr0-w1 do raise an excellent point, he’ll give them that. “That’s something we’ll have to figure out. For now, we might need to head back to the agency.”

They sighed. “Alright.” They left the secret room to get a their bat from the desk. Waiting for Nick to leave it, not to lock him in the room. Which Nick was grateful for.

Once Pr0-w1 makes their way to the front of Kellogg's house, Nick stuck the box of cigars back into his coat pocket and got the door for them this time around. Pr0-w1 slipped their shades back on and he double checked that no one saw them leave. As the two of them walked down the steps and headed towards the center of town, a thought hit him like a broadside of a barn.

Nick Valentine had only known Pr0-w1 for a few hours and he’s fallen down a rabbit hole of a case. From being stuck in an overseer’s office for weeks on end, to hunting down a merc that has ties to the institute. Hunting down a merc specifically to find a vault dwellin’ icicle for a synth that has been technically dead for 5 years.

A synth that acts way too human than even some of the citizens of Diamond City. A synth that talks way too much like a pre-war person from Massachusetts. A synth that might be in the same boat as him—identity crisis and all.

And that same synth? That’s the same synth that bashed a triggerman’s face into a window and got Nick out of the vault. Which is the same synth that’s been fighting for their whole life for the last few decades.

This is happened all in under a few hours.

It hasn’t been a full day yet.

It really was a lot to process. The more he tried wrapping his mind around it, the more it felt like he was pulling up the never ending roots of a small weed, to the point where the roots have branched out, to span across what feels like a mile. Following one root would continue to branch apart. One root connects to ten more, ten to a hundred, a hundred to a thousand. So on and so forth.

If there’s anything Nick can say, this case is an interesting one, to say at the least. As they fell down the hole, he was even more persistent to see the end, hopeful for some closure for them. It was one of the big ones; it seems.

There’s a nagging feeling wouldn’t dissipate. Nick couldn’t help feel like he was still barking up the wrong tree this whole time. Kellogg felt more and more of a stretch.

Nick took out the box of cigars out of his pocket and looked down at it. In his hand was the only lead they had to finding Kellogg.

The detective’s life is never an easy one, it seems.

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?”

Nick turned around to see one of the residents that was sitting at the counter of Power Noodles piped up at Pr0-w1, as they stood awkwardly near the Power Noodle station. “Just say yes, it’s all he understands.”

“Yes...” He could just tell Pr0-w1 felt like a deer in headlights at this point.

Takahashi handed a bowl of noodles to the synth. They placed caps into the jar on the counter and walked back over to Nick holding the Noodles. He just raised an eyebrow at them.

“I made a mistake.”

“Did you now?”

“I already said yes to the bot and now I just have this bowl of noodles that I can’t do anything with and I’ve made a grave mistake.”

“Nick?!”

Nick recognizes the sound of that voice, and judging from the way Pr0-w1 visibly tenses up, Pr0-w1 does too.

The voice was from a certain infamous (and only) member of the press. It belonged to Piper Wright, a red-capped news report who claims to write the truth in her paper the good ol’ Publick Occurrences. From the last issues he attempted to read, it felt like she was trying her hand at fear-mongering. If Nick didn’t know any better, he’d assume she found that filling the public’s minds with paranoia was what she was doing on purpose. However, with her papers, it was an automatic side effect. Piper believed that she was writing the truth, and Nick knew deep down, she meant no harm.

But Piper had grown up for a good chunk of her life in Diamond City. She was raised in the fear of the institute. In the fear of synths and being replaced by a synth. She saw the rise of the prejudge against ghouls. She was a teenager when McDonough’s ghoul ban went through. She’s still young.

But it’ll never defend the fact she’s not helping calm the situation.

Piper Wright has good intentions behind her paper, but accusing people of being synths and increasing the paranoia within the Commonwealth is not how you write a newspaper. Regardless of whether or not if that’s the “truth.” A newspaper does not increase paranoia for “awareness” on purpose. A newspaper is written to be a neutral party. The writer’s opinion should not affect the articles.

And it’s hard to teach someone what they’re doing something wrong. Especially when that’s all they know.

The report had just gotten off the elevator that transported her from the Mayor’s office. Knowing Piper, she was trying to find more information to accuse Mayor Donough as being a synth. As she made her way over to the two of them, Pr0-w1 just frowned. Probably frowned even more when they could see how big the grin on Piper’s face was.

“Oh man, it really is you!” Her smile just grew wider. “Nat had mentioned you were back. Hell, everyone was starting to get worried about you. Our own detective, gone like the wind just like,” She snapped her fingers. “That!”

“Well, I couldn’t have made it back without my knight-in-shining armor over here.” He sticks a thumb out at his synthetic partner.

Piper looked over at Pr0-w1 and they just gave her a pained smile. They raised their bowl of kinda warm noodles in salutations.

That seemed to get a kick out of Piper. “Heh, seems they’ve been busy helping a lotta people in the Commonwealth these days. Speaking of, how you feeling about that interview, Red?”

They raised an eyebrow. “I’m busy helping Nick with a case right now.”

“Oh, is that so?” She raised an eyebrow right back, not even dropping her smile. “Wanna share any details about it with the press?”

“No.”

Just a single word seemed to make Piper dropped her mood completely. She looked towards Nick, trying to see if he’ll budge.

Nick shrugged. “Sorry, Piper. You heard ‘em. You’ll just find out when it’s officially closed.” He’s not stupid. Nick isn’t just going to disclose this type of information to her like this.

Piper huffed. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Sooner or later I’ll find out. I always do.”

Pr0-w1 scowled and turned away. Nick could have sworn that they muttered something under their non-existent breath. Whatever it was, Piper sure didn’t hear it, and just continued on. “Well, I suppose I should let you two get back on the case. You two do more work than our “see no evil” guards, anyways. Any stories you two come across out there, I get the exclusive, right?"

“Piper, I wouldn’t know who else to tell.”

She regained her a cheeky grin. “Glad to have you back, Nicky.”

Piper walked towards her printing business and diverted her attention to getting her sister in the house and remind her that it’s time for bed. Once out of hearing range, Pr0-w1 released a breath they didn’t know they were holding in until now. Nick turns his attention back towards them. “You a’right over there?”

“The last thing I need is to have a goddamn interview with her.” Pr0-w1 murmured. “I’d really not just put my head on a pedestal like that.”

He placed a hand on their shoulder. “She can’t force you to partake in it, Doll.”

Then Nick realized he had slipped up and called them ‘Doll.’

Shit.

Luckily though, Pr0-w1 didn’t comment on it and just furrowed their brow and frowned even more. “Yeah but, she doesn’t seem like the type to let that shit go and not leave someone alone.”

They paused and looked at Nick. “I don’t wanna punch her in the face.”

Nick rolled his eyes. He could tell they were joking about--

Actually, he takes that back. He’s not sure that Pr0-w1 wouldn’t punch Piper in the face. Consider how Dino died.

“If she doesn’t I’ll make sure she does.”

Out of all the things they both had to deal with so far, Nick seeing Pr0-w1’s face soft with a gentle smile on their face made him glad he’s got himself into this mess.


	6. The Commodity of Tenacity

Their travel back to the agency was smooth. Well. Smooth as in no one stopped them to try to get an interview from Pr0-w1 or Pr0-w1 not spiraling.

 

Not smooth in the fact that Nick saw a rather extremely suspicious guard. Luckily, Pr0-w1 didn’t notice him because the last thing that either of them needed was Pr0-w1 falling apart because they started panicking.

 

However, Nick? Nick definitely did notice this guard. The guard was a bald man with shades, vaguely Caucasian. He wore the armor of a guard, but something about him was, off. The way he held himself and the small mannerisms he had didn’t exactly fit with a normal guard’s attitude in the great green jewel--even one that’s new. The only thing that made him a guard was just the outfit. Didn’t help it felt like Nick seen him before. Not as a guard, and not in Diamond City.

 

Maybe in Diamond City. Nick wasn’t exactly sure. Which didn’t bring him any comfort.

 

But the fact this was a guard Nick didn’t recognize plus acted this way was too suspicious to just chalk up to him overthinking. Nick made sure to make a mental note about this stranger.

 

With that thought put away on a metaphorical shelf in his processor for another day, the two synths entered the agency to see Ellie finishing up straightening out her desk. She looked ready to head home for the night. “Oh! You two are back. How did searching through Kellogg’s house go?”

 

Pr0-w1, still holding the bowl of noodles—with the attitude of that one person who is holding a piece of trash in their hand but is too anxious to ask where the trash can is—replies to her. “Well. Good news? We did find some things. Bad news? We found out he’s from the institute. Also here’s some noodles.” They held out the bowl to her. Nick just rolled his eyes when they did. He could just feel the relief of them being able to get rid of the noodles. 

 

Ellie was still trying to process the news of Kellogg being a part of the institute before she even realized that Pr0-w1 had offered her the noodles. “Oh! Thank you.” She took the bowl from them and the chopsticks they whipped out of their back pocket.

 

“Just a heads up, they’re probably a little cold.” They rubbed the back of their neck. “Sorry.”

 

She’s already halfway through shoving noodles into her mouth when Pr0-w1 said that. Whatever she said, Nick could not comprehend a single word due to the fact that her mouth was full of noodles. Meanwhile, Pr0-w1 was apparently fluent enough in the language of “Talking With A Mouth Full Of Food” that they knew what she said, judging by their facial expression.

 

Either that, or they’re really good at pretending to understand what’s going on.

 

The secretary thankfully took a moment to swallow her food before speaking once again. “Sorry,” Ellie said, sheepishly. “Haven’t had the chance to eat all day. They’re still warm. The noodles, I mean.”

 

“That’s good.” Pr0-w1 muttered.

 

“So,” She looked between Nick and Pr0-w1, a tad bit concerned. “How’d you guys figure out he was from the institute. I mean, that explains why we couldn’t find anything about his employers! But--“

 

Nick cut in while Pr0-w1 had focused their attention on taking off their hoodie and hanging it up on the coat rack behind him. “Well, if he didn’t leave a rifle with all of the signs of it being from the Institute, then we’d be running on gut instinct here.” 

 

Ellie Perkins raised her eyebrows in surprise. Any possible reasonable doubt she had in her mind is definitely gone. She sat there in shock for a hot moment. Judging about her silence, the agency has really opened a case full of worms now. Nick learned from the beginning that it was hard to make Ellie speechless. It was something Nick appreciated; he was able to bounce ideas between the two of them and be able to make sense of something without getting stuck at a dead end.

 

But this? Ellie being  _ surprised  _ and  _ speechless _ ? 

 

This meant this case was a different beast entirely. 

 

And there was a small doubt in Nick’s mind, that sat in the back of his mind, wondering: Are we about to mess with something we shouldn’t?

 

Ellie’s silence broke before his processor could spiral on him, thankfully. “ _ Dang. _ ” She murmured. “We really opened Pandora’s box didn’t we?”

 

Nick replied, “Seems so.”

 

The concerned on her face grew larger as Nick saw the gears being to work in Ellie’s head. “What happens if this leads us directly into the  _ institute _ ? This could be dangerous, Nick.”

 

“Who knows,” Pr0-w1 piped in from across the room, more specifically from Nick’s desk. They were sitting in his chair backwards, and just slowly started spinning around on it, pushing with their foot every other rotation. The fact that Nick hadn’t noticed they moved over there until they spoke was just a bit impressive. Then he remembers, right. They probably had to sneak around a lot. “But we sure as fuck can’t just brush this under the rug and expect the house to stop being on fire.”

 

Ellie looked at Pr0-w1. Then back to Nick. “Did you two managed to gather any other evidence?”

 

“Yes, actually.” Nick sticks his hands into his pockets, taking him a moment to find where the cigar box is before pulling it out. “A box of cigars.”

 

Ellie furrows her brow. “Cigars?” She picks up another bite of noodles.

 

“San Francisco Sunlights, to be exact. Not a brand you’d find commonly around here.” He held out the box to her.

 

She takes a moment to swallow her food before accepting the boxing. She looks the box over in her hands as she spoke. “Well, he’d either have to travel back west every time he’d want more or he’d need a supplier from the west....” She paused, then looked back up at Nick. “I can see if there’s anyone we can contact about any shipments of these.”

 

Pr0-w1 rejoins the conversation from their spot in the corner of the room once again. “Bunker Hill’s your best bet. It’s pretty much the trading capital of the Commonwealth more or less.”

 

Nick and Ellie looked over at Pr0-w1, who had been having a wonderful time spinning around slowly in Nick’s chair this whole time. Nick just raised an eyebrow at them. He wanted to question them on how they’d know that knowledge but that’s already common knowledge. Bunker Hill  _ is _ well known for being the center of trading. However, Nick didn’t expect Pr0-w1 to be the one to bring that factoid up. It felt a bit weird that they would be the ones to say it. Assuming Nick was correct about them running around, hiding the fact they’re a synth for their whole life and trying not to die. Seems like a pretty risky move for them to visit that place.

 

It was almost as if they could read his mind and they explained themselves. “Trading equals a lotta people. More people means more of chance for me being murdered. Well. Murdered again. Therefore I stay away from Bunker Hill. But,” They stopped their spinning. “that’s where traders from out west would probably show up to visit, anyways. Only other major settlement is Diamond City.”

 

Alright, that checks out. Fair enough.

 

“Okay.” Ellie slipped the cigar box in her pocket. “I’ll head out over there in the morning to see what I can find.” She took another bite of her noodles, and then grabbed her jacket from the coat racket. 

 

“Goodnight, guys. I’ll make sure to check in before I head out. Thank you for the noodles.” 

 

The two synths said their farewells to Ellie and Nick got the door for her. 

 

Now that Ellie has head home for the night, it was just the two synths. Neither of them need to sleep. Which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they don’t have to worry from passing out from zero sleep; a curse because they have to figure out what to do for the next bunch of hours. 

 

Nick looked at Pr0-w1 who seemed to be entertained with spinning around in the chair. As he made his around Ellie’s desk, the detective turned his attention to the filing cabinets and started rummaging around in a drawer for one of the full set decks of playing cards he owned. A full set of 52 was a weirdly rare concept these days, even more so having an even amount of numbers, colors and suits, never mind have the same artwork on them. For something like that to exist was a mind-blowing concept to many people in the Commonwealth. For Nick to have three complete decks? He might as well be a minor deity with a cult following of people who like to play poker.

 

Or if he went to New Vegas, he could just be some weird robotic fellow that has three deck of cards. Maybe he’d figure out how to play that caravan game he’s heard some traders from the West coast talk about, too. Then again, apparently he wouldn’t be the only robot in the area. From the stories of the last few caravans that traveled through, a robot army showed up to help a mailman fight at a dam and drove out two different armies from the surrounding area. Whether or not those claims are actually true is another story.

 

Not that Nick could follow up on that information if he wanted to anyway. He’s already got so much on his plate as is. The last thing he needs to do is go after information that’s not useful to him.

 

Regardless if there was signs of the mysterious stranger in that area.

 

But that’s not important right now.

 

What was important was the fact he was trying to find a pack of playing cards to keep them entertained for the rest of the night.

 

Well. Maybe only to keep him entertained, now. Considering Pr0-w1 was, and still is, having a good ol’ time spinning around in one of the chairs in the office.

 

After a few attempts at digging through drawers, the Detective pulled out one of his decks of cards. He turned to look at his currently spinning synth acquaintance. “I see you’re having fun over there.”

 

“Of course.” They just smiled at him as they rotated. 

 

He held up the deck. “Care for a card game? Or you are you content on spinning for the rest of the night?”

 

Pr0-w1 hummed. “Depends on what you have in mind, Detective.” They stopped spinning around to face Nick. “I’m down for anything, as long as one of us remembers the rules.”

 

Nick leaned against Ellie’s desk, taking off the rubber band that held what was left of the fragile cardboard box and gentle removed the cards from their fraying container. With the rubber band and box set aside, he shuffled the cards in his hand as he boggled his mind for what game to play. Sure, solitaire but that’s not a two player game. Poker probably would be good, people generally know how to play that—

 

“Nick?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“How about Go Fish?”

 

Okay that threw him for a loop. “Go Fish?”

 

They got up and made their way over to Ellie’s desk. “Yeah. It’s not Poker but it’s easy and simple.” Pr0-w1 plopped down in the yellow seat that sat in front of the desk. Perhaps one could argue that they could not use furniture correctly with the way they were sitting. Then they sat up—realizing it’s possibly impolite to attempt to put your feet on someone’s desk. “I mean, unless you don’t remember the rules up in your noggin.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow at them. “That depends on your definition of said rules, Pr0-w1.” 

 

Pr0-w1 just gave him a shit-eating grin. “At least humor me and sit down so we can play  _ something,  _ Nick.”

 

Nick definitely will humor them.

 

In his seat—which he does not spin around in, thank you very much—he deals out the cards to them. Mentally counting out seven to each as he dealt. “Do you alternate between each as or keep asking until Go Fish?”

 

“Eh,” They picked up their cards and started sorting in their hands. “It depends, but let’s go with alternating for now.” They placed a pair of 3s down. Nick placed a pair of aces and a pair of Kings. 

 

“Last card or until the end of the deck?”

 

“End of deck. I’ll start, I guess.”

 

And so, the card games begin.

 

Now. Finally Nick had a chance to have a moment to somewhat decompress from everything in the last few hours. He could finally clear his head for the night. 

 

Honestly, once he had started to chill out, he was able to realize things. Like Pr0-w1 had actually taken off their hoodie quite a bit ago alongside their shades. This time, there was not any fear in their bright blue synthetic eyes. More so their eyes specific was focus on the cards in their hands. Which makes sense. The two of them  _ are _ in the middle of a card game.

 

Hell, the fact that Pr0-w1 wasn’t wearing their hoodie surprised him in a bit. It was surprising, them not wearing it meant they probably felt comfortable enough around him. It almost felt like they were letting their guard down, almost. Without the hoodie, it was clear there was rip and tear all around them. With the gaping holes in their neck showing off their own mechanical inside, to the scratches and holes on their arm. 

 

Though something about the scratches on their right arm were off. For some reason, they looked almost as if the scratch marks are… self inflicted? But Nick wasn’t sure, to be frank. Probably best if he didn’t ask them about it, really.

 

And that’s when Nick realized he was still wearing his own coat and hat.

 

He had completely forgotten to return them to its own spot on the coat rack, too focused on updating Ellie on the news instead. It had become too much of a common occurrence for him, really. Sure he’s not afraid to be open about himself being a synth, but the clothes made the man. It felt like a part of him at this point. The outfit makes him be, well. Him. Nick Valentine. Nick Valentine the Detective. 

 

Without the whole getup, he’s just a falling apart synth. He might have memories of a pre-war detective named Nick Valentine, but in reality? He’s a synth pretending to be someone else. Without Nick’s personality and memories, however, he’s nothing. 

 

Then again, the outfit makes the man. 

  
  
  


They go through a few more games of Go Fish until one of them gets bored and Pr0-w1 ends up playing solitaire. Nick pulls out a packet of cigarettes and matches from his jacket pocket (he had finally taken off the jacket at some point and had it rest on the chair) and lit a cigarette. After the match was out, he chucks the used match into the ashtray and sets the rest of the matches and cigarette box aside. Nick rests his head on his hand while he watches Pr0-w1 have fun playing solitaire.

 

After a few minutes of silence, Pr0-w1 starts speaking. “So, Nick.”

 

“So, Pr0-w1.” 

 

“How’d the fuck did you end up in Diamond City? I don’t mean that in an insulting way. I mean like. How have people not started witch hunts over the fact you’re still in Fenwaaa--Diaaaaamond City?”

 

“Well,” He took a drag on his cigarette. “It’s because I ended up rescuing the mayor’s daughter.”

 

They looked up at him, completely puzzled. “Mayor McDonough has a daughter?” 

 

“No, this was before him and his mayoral campaign. The mayor back then was a man by the name of Henry Roberts. His daughter was a gal of about fifteen, his pride and joy…”

 

Nick told the whole story about how he’d ended up stumbling upon young miss Roberts and four toughs, not even realizing that it was her and four kidnappers. Come to find out she ran off with one of some caravan hand she’d known for an evening, soon finding out that the guy was part of a gang of kidnappers. 

 

Isn’t the Commonwealth a trip? 

 

“I took her home, and the Mayor dubbed me a hero, offered me a place in town. Lots of folks protested, said I was a spy, but he wouldn’t have it.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like something people would say.” Pr0-w1 looked at him as they laid down cards to set up another game of solitaire. “How’d the fuck did you take down four dudes by yourself?”

 

Oh, right. Nick didn’t explain that part. Oops. “Didn’t have to. Back then synths were even more of an unknown quantity than they are today.” He smiled as the memory of it came back to him. “I told them I was rigged to explode and started going ‘beep, beep, beep.’ “

 

Pr0-w1 laughed. They had to set down the deck of cards in their hand and placed their head in their hands. “Oh my  **_god_ ** **,** Nick.” 

 

“I know!” His smile got bigger. “Hardest part of that rescue was keeping from laughing as they climbed over each other to get away.”

 

Pr0-w1 just shook their head and took a moment to collect themselves before going back to setting up another game of solitaire. They had a smile on their face and just shaking their hand. It was kinda adorable. 

 

“Nick, please tell me that the mayor found out about that.” 

 

He snorted. “No, he never did. No one else in Diamond City did, I’m honestly just lucky they let me stay.”

 

“Oh?” They started flipping over cards. “Why? Did they give you a hard ass time? Or tried to do everything minus a witch hunt?” 

 

“Oh definitely. Course, when I took up there back when, people were just as scared of the Institute as they are now, maybe more. Mind you, the massacre of the CPG was still pretty fresh in people’s minds at that point, and folks were still losing sleep over the Broken Mask. Plenty of people assumed I was just a saboteur, moving in to melt down the reactor or poison the drinking water.” 

 

“Well I would’ve fucked around with them and said I poisoned the reactor and melted the water” Pr0-w1 muttered their breath, moving a 2 of spades onto the ace of spades at the top. Nick rolled his eyes and took another drag.

 

 “Anyways, CPG?” Pr0-w1 flipped a card from the deck. 9 of hearts, moved onto the 10 of clubs. “Wasn’t that the thing with all of the settlements showing up to start a government?” 

 

“The Commonwealth Provisional Government, yeah. Only the Institute sent a representative of their own, a Synth. The man killed every rep at the talks.”

 

“Was over before it even got off the ground. Damn.” 

 

“A real shame.” 

 

They returned to silence and Nick lost track of time watching Pr0-w1 play solitaire. That was until Pr0-w1 spoke up. “Hey Nick, can you uh, turn on the radio?”

 

“Oh, sure.” He rolled over to the radio and switched it on to Diamond City radio. Miles was finishing up with his awkward introduction of Crawl Out Through The Fallout while Nick turned it up for them. “How’s that?” 

 

“That works. Sorry, I’m just. Weird when it comes to silence. I,” They made vague hand motions as they tried to explain. “Don’t like when it’s really quiet? I don’t know how—”

 

“It’s alright, Pr0-w1.” He rolled his chair back over. “You don’t need to explain.” They really don’t. If background noise makes them more comfortable, then if he’ll make sure it stays around. He’s not one to pester them about it either way.

 

Though, it bugged him that he still didn’t know much about them. What he knows is that they can murder someone with their hands and with a bat. They died for 5 years and their name is Pr0-w1. Oh, they seem a bit paranoid about people knowing they’re a synth. (Which isn’t exactly unreasonable given people’s feelings about synths nowadays.)

 

But that sure ain’t a lot.

 

“Pr0-w1.”

 

They looked up the game. “Hm?”

 

“How are you holding up?”

 

They furrowed their brow. “Why do you ask?”

 

Nick frowned. That’s not exactly an answer he wanted. “It was a chaotic few hours. You went from getting me out of that vault to finding out that Kellogg is with the institute and now you’re sitting here just playing solitaire. I just want to check in with you to make sure you’re doin’ a’ight.”

 

Pr0-w1 sighed in response. They stared down at their hands for a moment, possibly trying to find the right words to say. “Well,” their fists clench for a moment before releasing. “Short answer is uh. complicated. Long answer is...” 

 

They sat there, staring at their hands. Nick started to get concerned, in all honesty. Maybe this wasn’t the best thing to ask them. However, Pr0-w1 just took a deep breath before looking Nick in the eye. 

 

“Long answer is that my head is a fucking mess—mind you it always has been, always be a one but. I got a ghost of a boxer in my dumbass head, and all of the memories and shit that they fucking did and just. It makes me feel fucking wrong to still be sitting here, especially in private eye’s agency, and not be the one who’s be fucking questioned for doing something wrong. Hell, I should still be dead, Nick. I should be face down on the road in Sanctuary Hills, dead.” 

 

God, it hurt his heart so much hearing that. He couldn’t tell what hurt him more. That Pr0-w1 is convinced they should be still dead or the fact they said it so casually. Hell, probably both. It really made him concerned for the mental state their head is in. He’s got his own demons and his own issues, sure, but this felt a lot worse than Pr0-w1 is letting on. 

 

“But! Bright side is that I can’t pretend I’m the only synth that looks like this,” They gesture towards themselves. “So that’s something that can’t be faked. And that well, Diamond City is actually not as awful towards synths as I thought they would, considering they haven’t kicked you out.”

 

The tone of this conversation might as well gave Nick whiplash. One second Pr0-w1 was casually saying they should still be dead, the next they were being positive.

 

“So you’re either one smart and charismatic fucker that can convince a whole city of people you’re not some institute spy, or people learned that a synth like you isn’t as bad as it actually seems.”

 

Okay that got a snort of Nick. “Well, try telling that to Myrna, our local anti-synth conspiracy theorist and junk seller.”

 

Pr0-w1 makes a ‘pfft’ noise in response and leaned back in their chair. “Eh, who needs her junk, anyways? We can just get our own and sell that! Side business for the agency!” Pr0-w1 had a shit-eating grin. “Who needs anti-synth junk, when you got pro-synth trash!”

 

In any other situation he’d laugh, but considering what Pr0-w1 just said about themselves not even minute ago, Nick can’t bring himself to laugh. He really can’t. It’s very hard to get the thought of someone out right saying they should still be dead in your head. Nick wanted to say something, but. Hell, he doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that, even when Pr0-w1 has changed the topic on him. 

 

It doesn’t help that Nick gets that same feeling, either. He knows that all too well. Way too well. Maybe that’s why it bothers him, because he doesn’t want someone else to deal with the same version of that in his head. Maybe it’s because Pr0-w1 can say it way too casually. 

 

Nick guesses it’s for the best that he doesn’t push on that. It sure is going to eat away at him for not doing so, though.

 

“I sure hope you still remember some good boxing stories.” Nick tapped out the ashes from cigarette into his ashtray, maybe he can change the topic to something related to boxing. Hopefully. 

 

“Uh. Well. Depends on your definition of ‘good.’” 

 

Nick raised an eyebrow. Something tells him he might regret asking this.

 

“I destroyed a man’s win/lose streak by being the first person to he ever lost to and I got shot for it.”

 

Ah, there’s that regret.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too particularly confident about how i finished this chapter so the ending might change.
> 
> Edit: I changed it :^)


	7. [FLASHBACK] Glory And Gore

Circa 5:00 pm, Summer of 2060.  
Pre-War Boston. Exact Location Unknown.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!”

The voice booms over the speakers and bounces across the concrete walls. Silence falls among the crowd. Members from all different walks of life--from your local 'I'm a rich dude looking to rebel against society because I'm bored' asshole to the lady with red hair down the street, living paycheck to paycheck and just trying to make sure she had enough money to get hot water every month. All were looking for a chance to fight or just here to bet on fighters; watching as blood and guts splattered across the ring. No one judged each other down here. Well. That’s a lie. No one was biased. The point still stands, no one's going to open their mouth about your background, no one's going to kick you out for who you are. As long as you can fight, you can fight.

The announcer walked across the stage, tension clung to the air, like sweat clinging to the fighters' skin. The crowd held their breath, hanging onto every word.

"You know the rules." The announcer's footsteps rang across the stage. "For those of you that don't know it or are new, I'll tell you."

"Don't. Get. Caught."

Now, one might ask, 'what do you mean by that?'

Well, It fucking means you don't get caught.

You don't get caught by the authority either on the way here or on the way out. You don't get caught by another member, trying to murder or drug their opponent before the match.

Mind you, murder was indeed allowed, but at least have the fucking decency to give them the chance to spill their guts out mid-fight. You don't get caught by the police after bashing someone's brains out on one of the poles. Honestly? Whatever happened afterward was of no concern to anyone down there. Stab, Rebel, Murder, and hell--fuck your brains out of your skull to your heart's goddamn content. Do whatever you want after you left the ring. Go back to your normal everyday life and move on with your fucking life. Show up tomorrow for the next fight or never set foot down there ever again.

But, whatever you fucking do, Don't get fucking caught. Period.

This was only spoken rule that made had its roots dug deep down into the dirt underneath the concrete. It sealed the cracks on the floor. It became the dirt underneath people's nails. It crawled underneath people's skin, all the way to their brain, drilling their own little spot to latch on. It was a rule that every single one who took one step down that ladder knew. If you didn't, you'd learn it before you left.

Wasn't the only rule, however. There were two official rules. But, it was the only one that everyone said out loud.

The unspoken rule?

Whatever you did, you did not ever, open your fucking mouth and be a snitch. Snitches don't get stitches here. Oh no, they don't at all.

Snitches wishes they could get snitches. Oh, they wish so badly. So, so, soooooo badly. They were lucky if they could breathe, never mind even having their body sowed back together with medical grade thread and glue. It's hard to put someone back together when they're made of human mush or pieces go missing, lost to god knows where. Hell, even ""God almighty"" himself probably wouldn't know what had happened to them.

No one likes a narc. Especially, no one in even a five-mile radius of the place.

Sometimes, a snitch gets used as an example and that's when they're the most unlucky. It's a fate worse than death. Being caught as a snitch is would most likely be the equivalent of being caught in the act of committing a war crime, for a lack of a better expression.

Being used as an example? There's no proper way to explain how horrendous it truly is. And really, most people can only guess, from the screams that echo along the concrete walls. The screams that crawl their way into your eardrums, and just sit within. Becoming its own cruel form of tinnitus. Each scream just piling up more and more until all you can focus on is the screams, transforming into a high pitched ring until it either dies out or such a familiar sound you just become accustomed to it. And when the ringing stops? It'll make you wish that it'd never left. Because you're not sure what's more terrifying: the silence that's wormed into your ears, or the thought you can never remove that sound from your head anymore.

And that's not even including witnessing the act with your own eyes.

It's a different situation compared to bashing someone's head in with your fists or ripping out their neck with your bare hands. It's different when you're watching them, slowly be sliced open, as their intestines are pulled out and turned paste. As their bones are snapped and twisted and mangled. As their tongue is ripped out of their mouth, and their teeth are removed, one by one, sometimes with pliers. Sometimes without.

They'd keep them awake, pumped on some kind of crude cocktail of chems. Psycho was always the main ingredient. Whatever else was in it generally changed from time to time. Only stabbing them with a stimpack to keep 'em alive until the end.

Their eyes were always saved second to last, they'd scoop out their eyes and then rip the nerve out from their face. Or they'd take something sharp and stab it in. Moving it around in there, with circular motions until they were satisfied with the damage. Then, the last thing that would happen is their head would be bashed in. Against the floor of the ring. Over and over and over again. Their screams would die out and it keeps going until their skull was shattered into fine dust and you couldn't tell there was a face in the first place.

It's worse than death and even worse than torture. Inhumane barely even scratches the surface of attempting to describe it. And no one, regardless of whether or not they had a brain, wanted to be used an example.

Because that is what would happen if you broke the second rule. What happens if you break the first one depended on who caught you.

Those were the only two rules for it all in all. Within the ring? Anything goes. Though guns and grenades were frowned upon and made you look like a coward. Knife? Fine. A pistol? Wow, here comes the little baby with their glass fists, showing up because they wanna win. This is a blood sport, not show-off time about how well you can use a gun.

Luckily, today in this ring, the opponents were here with no guns, no bats, and no knives. Not a single weapon in sight. Both were only armed with their own two fists. One was ready to put on a show, acting like a hotshot. The other?

They were here to fight. They were here to win. To win the money to pay for their rent that month. And they plan to go down swinging, even to their last breath. It was a job. A job where they shattered people's skulls and crushed their ribs--even going so far as murdering them. It was a job. Or so they told themselves. It was the only job that would accept their resumé. Because it was a job that didn't throw them away for being something they didn't like. As long as they fight, and as long as the crowd is pleased, they would be paid.

Even if the downside was you had to disconnect yourself from the fact that your left hook dislocated and shattered a man's jaw and your boots were covered in the same man's brain matter. From the fact that your hands constantly had someone's blood on it. Even after it's been scrubbed away. Staining them with the dried blood of so many people that were just like you, fighting for their life. Even when the stains weren't visible to anyone else,

They were there. They are always there.

And you cannot never stop washing the blood from your hands, you cannot never stop to dwell on the fact your wins are just a body count, even if some don't die.

Because if you stop, if you stop maybe sanity will get you by the throat. Maybe realization will pry open your mind and the horror you left down in the concrete will seep in.

The horror would continue to flow, filling up your mind. Slowly but surely, replacing bits and pieces until it took control. Destroying and feasting the remains, like a parasite, while it began a decline in your existence. Only to finish, when it's finally your time to die in a boxing ring, in a concrete basement, bleeding out because your anger and spite no longer could be the source of your production of survival.

It is a slow and insidious killer. When you stop, the clock to your demise has begun to tick down. How long you have left is something you don't know. Nor will you ever have control.

As the two opponents made eye contact with each other. The hotshot sneered. He was cocky and true to his form, he acted like hot shit.

His challenger? Just took the moment to finish wrapping up their hands and stared at him. He could feel their eyes boring into him, as they studied him while continuing on with their own routine.

The announcer walked to the edge of the ring, towards where a majority of the crowd had positioned themselves. Now it was time to do his job.

"Now, that we have the rules laid out for you all, we still have our lovely fighters to introduce." He hops up on one of the ropes, holding on with his free hand. This is normal for him. This is nothing new. But god did the man enjoy his job.

"Over on my right here, we have our rising star. Only been around for a few months and his win streak knows no fucking bounds! A 24 win streak, 0 fucking loses!" His voice echoes, everyone is on the edge of their seat. "He's a tornado, coming through, pulling up the foundation of some of the best fighters we've had come through here. His terror knows no bounds in the ring, he's an up and coming fan favorite, it's The Hunteeeeeeer!”

The crowd starts to go wild as the Hunter tries to hype up the crowd, flexing in his corner, posing like a smug little shit. He has a young spunk to him. But he also oozes "I'm rich and have power. My daddy knows people and will get you fired." vibes. He screams the vibes of a kid, who thinks he's hot shit, all because he has money in his pocket and can do whatever he wants, without consequences. 

People will tell you he's called "The Hunter" because he hunts his prey down in the ring. Waiting patiently until they make a move and spring directly into his trap. Falling to their demise in the ring.

And the right people down here will tell you that he got the name "The Hunter" because he seeks out individuals he knows he can manipulate. That he knows he can win against. That he knows he can have them held by a leash. That he can mess up before the match and give him an advantage. He hunts down his prey for his winnings just so he can rule the ring, and he's never lost a single match. In the ring? He's nothing like people say. He just knows how to pick people who will make him look good. He sets up the game, with his own rules in play. Rigged for his benefit. 

"Now, now." The announcer manages to quell the crowd down a bit before he continues on. "We may have a rising star here, but, can he stand against one of our best regulars down here? They're a beast in the ring. Not willin' to go down without a fight and doing some damage. They're on their own win streak of 28-06! It's Proooooowl!”

The crowd goes wild, without the boxer even needing to egg on the crowd. They just double-checked their wrappings were done and their hair was pulled back. As the crowd was at one of it's rowdiest points, the announcer leans into the mic, quietly speaking into it. "And, the Hunter may be the one who's being hunted tonight, ladies and gentlemen." 

Whether or not he heard him over the crowd, was neither here nor there anymore. The man had sealed his fate, regardless of his actions here on out. Prowl does not go down without a fight, and if they're going down, they plan on taking you with them if they can. Prowl--while would like money to pay rent and shit--does not and will not let money persuade them into letting someone win. Nor will the threats. 

They have nothing left to lose and everything to gain. 

"Now," His voice drowned out the crowd, forming silence as he paused. "Are you fucking ready for a fight?!"

The crowd roars in excitement and the bell had been rung. The hunt has begun.

Prowl keeps their distance. They slowly start moving along the edge of the ring, being mimicked by the Hunter, as they locked eyes. They kept their arms down by their side but their hands stayed curled into a fist. They weren't going to make the first move, they'd walk around this ring, staring directly into the eyes of the hunter for as long as possible. Prowl had shifted their gears and tuned out any of the audience and the announcer. They were focused on a fool. A fool who realizes the game was rigged from the start, but never stopped to think that the deck was never stacked in his corner.

And this fool, as much as he was called “The Hunter”, had no patience. If he was left in the woods with only a hunting knife, he would starve. Or accidentally bleed out from doing something dumb with the knife. 

Almost like clockwork, he starts getting antsy. He’s preparing himself to charge in, and take the first swing. Prowl continues to lead this circle around, until the Hunter decides to close in the distance and strike, pretty much telegraphing his moves like an open book. Prowl ducked as the Hunter swung from their head and they respond with an uppercut. He stumbles back, barely even to process what happened before their signature left hook is whipped out on him. 

With the sound of a loud crunch, the crowd roared as the Hunter fell to his hands and knees, as the blood rushed out of his broken nose and onto the ring's floor. Prowl crouched down and rested their arms on their knees. 

"Are you ready to give up?"

He spat out a few teeth, adding more blood and bonus spit into the ground. "Fucc goo." The Hunter slurred and gargled on some of his mouth blood.

Prowl sighed and grabbed him by the back of his hair. They slowly raised his head up, increasing their grip. "Last chance." 

The Hunter looked up them—well. The Hunter attempted to look up at them and snarled. Prowl then just slammed his head down into the ring's floor, hard. The sound of crushed bones was drowned by the crowd. As they lifted up his head, the blood continued to run down his face and drip into the ever-expanding size of the blood pool. It was leaving its mark, in the ground. Knowingly never going to get out of it, staining that spot for the rest of all eternity--or at least until it gets replaced. Accompanying this pool was teeth. The teeth will just be kicked off the edge, onto the ground, to be brushed away into the trash, long forgotten by everyone but the two in the ring.

One of them will remember them by the spaces in their mouth—-that will probably be filled in with fakes knowing the owner of them.

The other will remember them when they close their eyes when they try and sleep; when they try and sit in silence in an attempt to wind down and relax. They will remember that those are the teeth of a man who they just kicked their shit in. They will remember it, over 200 years later. 

They will remember. 

And tell someone this event—someone who is both familiar, but not too familiar. Someone who doesn’t know this side of the Boston in this way. But who knows, how harsh the world can really be. 

But now is not the time to think about that. Do not think of the present. Go back to the past.

Prowl flips over the Hunter and drops him, but not in shock. No, they’ve seen what they’ve done to someone’s face before. They’ve seen how people’s faces are destroyed, misshapen. Noses broken to the point of where they’ll never be the same. Jaws, misaligned. Faces caked in blood and bruises starting to form. Oh, they’ve seen it all. They’ve seen on so many different levels. This man’s face is not the worst they’ve seen. Deep down, somewhere in the back of their mind, they’d say it’s pretty tame. 

No, they drop him and watch as the back of his head hit the floor. They stood up and stared down at him. His eyes were rolling back. They were sure they were glassy, as well. 

“God, you’re pathetic.” Prowl muttered under their breath. They look away and look up back at the crowd. It takes them a moment to realize that the announcer had declared them the winner. 

They were the first to end the Hunter’s win streak.

They won. 

The hunter was official now at 24-01. 24 wins.

1 lost.

 

It had to be at least a month or so after that fight. Time either passed by really quickly or passed by really slowly, so it was hard to tell what day or month it was. Especially when you're so dead inside that you couldn't give a single shit. 

So dead inside that when you're out in the middle of the street at night, and some guy starts storming towards you, you literally could not care if this is how you die, get mugged or both. 

Then again when it's the guy who you destroyed their jaw and nose trying to deck you and failing to realize it's not going to work then you start having to have second thoughts. Not because you don't wanna die, it's more out of a "what the fuck is up with you, asshole" and curiosity of what sort of bullshit is this guy trying to pull now.

Oh, it's a gun. That's what he's trying to pull. Okay.

Prowl did not realize getting shot was how their night was going to go, in all honesty. And just processing the fact that they got shot in the gut, and then pushed to the ground. 

"What the FUCK?!” they gritted through their teeth. Oh god, oh fuck, that's a SHIT ton of pain. They snarled in pain as they stared up at the gun.

"You fucking destroyed my streak, asshole.” He gestured wildly with the gun. “And almost fucking killed me!” 

“Well,” The boxer snarled. “Maybe I should have, considered you decided to shoot me.” 

And with pushing their luck, they got pistol-whipped. Stars filled their eyes and whatever the dude just yelled at them was completely missed. They were still very much out of it when they got grabbed by their collar and continued to get yelled at. Being chucked back on the ground didn’t help, and it took them a lot to process what he said before walking off.

“Maybe you’ll be the one to bleed out, instead.” 

First their gut, now it's their head too. Probably got a concussion now. 

Fuck. 

They attempted to push themselves up and struggled a few times but managed to push themselves up. At this point, they were pissed off that the dumbass would one, be this mad he lost to shoot them and b, try to kill them by the payphone nearby. 

Though, boy howdy it's getting hard to do so. 

They grabbed the phone and gripped their gut, leaning against the box. "Operator." 

An automated female voice patched through. "Yes?" 

"I'd—” They paused, gritted their teeth in pain. "I'd, like to make a collect call to 911." 

"Okay, transferring you in now."

Their breathing was getting heavier and heavier by the minute, and they could slowly feel the panic coming upon them. 

They don't want to die. This isn't how they want to go out. This isn't--

A male voice responded, pulling them out of their thoughts. "911, what's your emergency?" 

"Hi, I'm…” They almost said their name. Fuck. "Bleeding out on the sidewalk a block or two away from.." they took a deep breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Come on. "Intersection alongside Cooper st. and Salem st. I've been shot."

"Please stay calm, help is on the way, sir."

"Thank you."

Prowl slumped down against the side of the phone booth. They gripped their side as they slide. Slowly feeling them getting weaker and tired. They saw the darkness, start to fade in from the corners of their vision. As the sound of sirens started to grow louder and louder, one thought rang in their mind. 

I'm not dying just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I've been burnt out with fallout for quite a while, to be fairly honest. I don't know if people have been following this, if you have, then you have my thanks. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll come back to this, I doubt I will any time soon, really. I've been dealing with my own personal issues and It's been taking up time for this. 
> 
> My apologies, again. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to sit down and read, any of it, actually. I appreciate it, a lot.


End file.
